The Haunted Opera
by TheatreGirl81
Summary: The Opera Populaire is haunted by a ghost and only Christine can save his tortured soul.
1. Prologue

He ran through the corridor as fast as he could. He knew these halls like the back of his hand, but suddenly, in the heat of the moment, he was acting like a bumbling fool. His head hurt and there was blood running down his face.

He could hear the mob getting closer and closer. How had it come to this? All his life he had been sequestered in this opera house surrounded by music and that had been a comfort. He trained his voice and could sing like no other and he also taught himself to play countless instruments, though the organ and violin were his favorites. Architecture became a passion, as well as theatrical tricks of the trade like throwing his voice and vanishing in a crowded space. He was a genius in a musical playground and now his place of refuge would become his crypt because people thought a deformed face meant the soul was just as twisted.

The only person who had ever loved him was gone and Erik had no one to save him. Perhaps if he could just get to the chapel maybe he could have one last moment of peace before the end. He skidded to a halt and pulled open the door. The sight of the little girl kneeling at the alter made him stop.

"Papa please… Why did you have to die and leave me all alone?"

Erik, maybe ten years older than the girl, felt his heart stop. He stopped breathing and pressed his back to the door. She was dressed like a ballerina.

"The angel will come, won't he?" the girl asked. "Please… please send me the Angel of Music. I promise I'll keep singing, just please don't leave me alone."

Erik slid out of the chapel, determined to find a way to aid this new addition to the opera house. But as he turned he felt something collide with his head. Everything went black.

* * *

When he came to Erik was being dragged by a rope that bound his hands. His body was bruised and sore. He was gagged and the men surrounding him gave no indication they knew he woken up. He looked around the best he could.

They were underground, in the catacombs that Erik knew well.

"Throw him in the lake," one of the men said.

"Better tie him better," said another. "Tie the end of the rope to his ankles."

"I can't believe that man allowed this demon to live," another added. "We'll all be better off when he's dead."

Erik began to struggle in earnest and the men moved in to contain him. Despite the blood and the pounding in his head he made sure to get a good look at each of them. His mind was sharp and he could easily remember each betrayer.

"Hit him again."

"Tie him up quick."

Erik was hogtied and hoisted into the air. This was it, he was going to die. There was no way he could swim trussed up. Nor could he break his bonds and get away when there were so many men around.

The little ballerina's words came back to him: _Papa please… Why did you have to die and leave me all alone?_

It was a selfish thought, blaming the dead for dying. But when a young person's heart broke it was too much to handle. Erik steeled himself and swore he would no longer mourn. He would let his anger rise and somehow he would get his revenge.

Then he felt the cold sting of the water and he was slipping down below the surface. Darkness closed in around him and he couldn't breathe.

So this was what it felt like to die…


	2. Chapter 1

1

"Do you see what we have here?" Monsieur Firmin asked his associate.

Monsieur Andre dropped the papers he was holding on the desk. "We have a mess, Firmin. We have bought a cursed opera house from that schemer Lefevre. There have been ten deaths in this building going back ten years. They always happen in October and it is now late August."

"Why can't you see that this is just publicity?" Firmin pushed. "All this is is a good case of propaganda to bring more people into the Opera Populaire. "

"I looked into it," Andre retorted. "All of the men who died had worked for this opera house and they all died within these walls."

"Doctored paper work," Firmin said dismissively. "We can't worry about theatre superstitions when we have a gala to plan. Besides, what would the Vicomte think of all this nonsense?"

"He wouldn't like it," Andre agreed. "Best to keep him in the dark about it. We want him to be completely happy here. Oh, speaking of, do you remember when he was at the rehearsal the other day?"

"I remember," Firmin replied.

"Well, he was quite taken with one of the chorus girls… Christine Daaé, yes! That was her name. We should make her available to him, don't you think?"

"If she agrees," Firmin replied. "I'll not have this opera's reputation tarnished with accusations of loose women or forced...

"No one has to know," Andre said. "And no one will make Miss Daaé do anything she does not consent to. Now, back to this matter of a cursed building."

* * *

_Christine your voice is lovely. _

"Thank you, Angel." The young chorus girl beamed. "It's all because of your help."

_No Christine. _The voice that spoke to her filled her dressing room, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. _The greatest teacher can do nothing with a student that lacks potential and drive. I have been able to help you because you want this._

"More than anything," she replied.

_Then you will sing at the gala. It is time you took your rightful place as the diva._

"But Carlotta…"

_That old sow is past her prime, _the voice angrily. _She has been washed up four years. It's time for your triumph._

"Our triumph, you mean."

_We will speak later. Little Giry is coming._

Christine was suddenly alone. The powerful force that was her Angel just disappeared. Sadness washed over the young woman as it did every time her secret friend left her. It was hard to explain, but when he was around she felt safe and protected.

A knock on the door preceded Meg's voice. "Christine? Christine, can I come in?"

"Of course."

The blond daughter of the ballet mistress flounced into the room. She was sixteen, about two and half years younger than Christine's nineteen years. But Meg had a rare innocence about her that made the girl seem younger. Or maybe it was because Christine had been forced to grow up at a young age. She had been orphaned at eight.

"I'm so excited about the gala, Christine," Meg beamed. "New managers and a new patron, it's all so exciting."

"I can't wait either," Christine replied.

"I heard you're going to audition for 'Faust'," Meg said.

Christine nodded. "I am. I want to try for a better role. I think I'm ready."

Meg looked confused. "But… you haven't said anything about it to anyone other than my mother. Have you been taking lessons?"

Christine glanced around the room. "Yes, I have."

"But surely not here," Meg said. "If it was someone here everyone would know. Oh! You got a private tutor so Carlotta wouldn't find out."

"Something like that," Christine said. "Meg… can you keep a secret?"

"Of course Christine," she replied. She straightened into a formal dancer's pose and steeled her features. "You can tell me anyrhing."

"Do you remember the bedtime stories I used to tell when we were younger? About the Angel of Music?"

"Yes."

"He came to me," Christine whispered. "He teaches me to sing. My father sent me an Angel and now… Now I'm going to be a famous Prima Donna. I can hardly believe it. It's like a dream."

"An angel, Christine?" Meg was hesitant. "Have you ever seen him?"

"I've only heard his voice and felt his presence."

"An angel?"

"What else could he be?" Christine snapped. She softened. "I'm sorry. I just thought you of all people would understand. After all, you're obsessed with the thought of an Opera Ghost…"

"Mother has talked to him."

"And you haven't seen this ghost but you believe in him. How is it any different?"

Meg went to reply, but thought better of it. "I guess it isn't any different."


End file.
